


The Night in Your Eyes (the "Don't It Make Your Black Eyes Green" Remix)

by Jain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: kamikazeremix, Incest, M/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Present Tense, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/pseuds/Jain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes what he can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night in Your Eyes (the "Don't It Make Your Black Eyes Green" Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poisontaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Night in Your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1901) by poisontaster. 



If they hadn't been accompanied by blinding headaches, Sam would never have recognized his dreams as visions. There were no monsters, no death, not even any other _people_. Just Dean and him on a cold, windswept stretch of beach, walking together in a companionable silence. The first time, Sam had been almost embarrassed for his subconscious: long walks on the beach, seriously? This was supposed to be a dream, not a personals ad.

The dream had obliged him shortly afterwards. They'd returned to their hotel, and Dean had touched him on the shoulder, and then had kept touching him, until they were both sweaty and breathless and blissed out.

...Sam blinked his eyes open, more than a bit breathless even now that he was awake. He had half a second to hope that he hadn't been too noisy or obvious, when pain shot through his head and he cried out. He pressed a hand to his eyes, now squinched tight, and made an effort to breathe.

There was no answering noise from the hotel room, no worried questions from Dean, which meant one of two things. One, Dean was sleeping through his post-vision meltdown: not very likely. Or, two, Dean had stepped out for breakfast or something and would be back soon. Ordinarily, Sam would be feeling pretty pathetic and miserable at being left alone while his head tried to implode. This time, it was a huge relief: no awkward questions about why his visions had started giving him hard-ons.

Sam fumbled the T3 out of his bedside table and swallowed a pill dry, hoping distantly that Dean returned with food before the pill started to burn through his stomach lining. Then he pressed his fingertips more tightly against the pressure points by his eyes and did his best to think through the sharp pain in his head that only seemed to stab deeper into his skull with every heartbeat.

If that had been a vision, then it was one of the weirder ones Sam had had yet, even discounting the part where he'd fucked Dean in it. (If it had been a regular, non-prophetic dream, on the other hand, that part would've been pretty standard.) He started ticking off anomalies mentally. There'd been no sense of urgency when he awoke, just a lazy feeling of contentment. There'd been no clues to the location of the beach, beyond the fact that it was jacket weather there. Most importantly, there'd been nothing supernatural or even ominous about the vision. Fraternal incest aside, everything had seemed totally normal. Except...

There'd been a sort of misty green overlay, hadn't there? Not actual mist, more like...Sam frowned in thought...more like looking at a sepia-toned photograph, only rather than a warm brown, this had been a kind of phosphorescent green. It seemed odd that he hadn't noticed it at the time, but in the vision the green mist had seemed unremarkable.

It couldn't have been a will-o'-the-wisp or feux follets; Sam and Dean would've noticed something like that right away. Which meant that it was something that observer!Sam could see, but the Sam inside the vision couldn't. Which only made this whole dream/vision thing that much weirder.

There was a scrape of the key in the lock, and Sam hastily pulled his hands away from his face, trying to look as normal as possible. Fortunately, the Tylenol had kicked in by then.

"Rise and shine, cupcake," Dean called as he clomped into the room, aggressively cheerful for someone who'd probably gotten fewer than five hours of sleep the previous night.

Sam arched his eyebrows at him. "' _Cupcake_ '?"

Dean shrugged, apparently unconcerned by the fact that he sounded like a suburban mother on a sitcom. "There's a bakery next door to the coffee shop. The image stuck. Heads up."

Sam snatched the paper bag out of the air and opened it to find a large muffin, still warm from the oven.

"Coffee's for when you get your lazy ass out of bed," Dean added and set a paper cup on the table by the window.

"Fine," Sam mock grumbled and slid out of bed, grateful that he'd worn a T-shirt the previous night that would hopefully conceal the somewhat disgusting mess in his shorts. Next time he had a vision masquerading as a wet dream, or vice versa, the dream interpretation could just wait until after his shower.

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean said sleepily.

Sam whimpered.

"Fuck." There was the sound of bedclothes being brushed aside, and then Dean's hand was on his shoulder, warm and comforting. "Vision?"

"Maybe. 'm not sure," Sam managed, eyes still closed tightly.

The bedside table drawer slid open; a few seconds later, he felt Dean's fingers brush against his lips, and he opened his mouth for the pill. "Hang on," Dean said.

By the time he returned with a cup of water filled from the bathroom sink, Sam was able to sit up and drink carefully from it.

"What did you see?" Dean asked when Sam put the cup down.

Sam shook his head cautiously. "Green. You. Me."

"Green," Dean repeated, in a wary tone, as if he weren't sure whether Sam was joking or crazy.

Sam shrugged. "I know, Dean. It doesn't make any sense, but that's what I saw."

"Okay," Dean said immediately. "Sure. Green. I'm gonna go pick us up some bagels and coffee; you need to get something in your stomach. And if you get any more visions while I'm gone, like yellow or purple or something, then you be sure to tell me when I get back."

The words were mocking; the hand that squeezed Sam's shoulder for several long moments wasn't.

"Asshole," Sam said, not meaning it. Dean gave him a somewhat relieved smile, snagged the keys off the table, and left.

Sam rested a few more minutes, until the throbbing in his head was obscured by the welcome haze of codeine, and then got up and headed for the bathroom, plucking at the waistband of his boxers distastefully.

The vision had been almost exactly the same as last night's, but for one key detail: he had an address. The hotel was at 214 Sycamore Avenue, and the nearest cross-street was Willoughby Drive. If he showered fast, he might be able to track down all the relevant information before Dean even returned.

* * *

Sam lay in bed, listening to his pulse, the clink of the heater, the murmur of the TV from the neighboring room. When Dean entered with a jingle of keys, Sam flinched.

The jingle stopped. "Sammy?" Dean asked, a worried note in his voice.

Sam grimaced. "Headache."

"Another vision?"

"I think so. It was...all in pieces."

"More green?" Dean's footsteps came nearer.

"Yeah, but now I know what it was."

The bedside table drawer opened.

"I already took one," Sam said, and the drawer closed again. Something soft nudged against his fingers. He closed his hand around it: a glazed doughnut, fluffy and sticky, with a crackled shell of sugar. He bit into the doughnut and chewed slowly, swallowed. "The green was water. I was under the water and it...it tasted like salt. Salt and...something else."

"What else?"

"I don't know. Something...strange. Bitter. I see stars. And I see--I smell blood. So much blood. And...then it all goes dark."

"Huh." There was a thoughtful pause, and then Dean said, "Finish your doughnut."

Sam took another bite.

"So, seawater?"

"Not normal seawater, but, yeah."

"You get anything more from the vision than that?"

"Duxbury, Massachusetts. That's it."

"And we don't know what we're hunting?"

Sam opened his eyes carefully, wincing as though the light hurt him. "No idea. But it's worth checking out, right?" He held his breath, not entirely certain whether he wanted Dean to say yes or no.

Dean shrugged. "There's nothing else on our plate right now. Why the hell not?"

* * *

The beach is, if anything, more desolate than in Sam's dream, but Dean keeps up a steady patter of jokes and sarcastic comments to distract them from the clammy wind and bleak landscape. Sam's pretty sure he's been responding naturally--at least, Dean hasn't said anything yet about him acting strangely--but he's tense with anticipation.

His research turned up no signs of a skinwalker in Duxbury, which was the one thing he was really worried about. Those things are fucking bad news. Shapeshifters, though: a smart shapeshifter could blend in no problem. Sam scans the beach again and wonders from where it might appear. There's no chance that it's with him already; he hasn't let Dean out of his line of sight once in the past three hours.

He pretends to, though; lets Dean wander up and down the beach, tracking him out of the corner of his eye. He's counting on Dean being quick and smart enough to not let the thing kill him, but that doesn't mean that Sam's not going to provide backup if necessary.

There's a flurry of movement, and Sam tenses, but it's just Dean bending over to pick something up on the sand. He stares at it for a long moment, and then he turns to saunter back towards Sam.

If Sam's being honest with himself, he knows they should probably give up. It's not as though the vision's played by any of the rules _so far_. Maybe it was a vision of something that won't happen for another couple of years. Or maybe it really was just a dream, and the headaches are just a sign that Sam's developed chronic migraines.

Besides, it's a stupid risk to take, especially when the only prize to be won is something that isn't even real. He's about to tell Dean that, too, when Dean glances over at him with eyes that wash over black for just a moment. Sam swallows hard, forces a smile. "You find anything?" he asks lightly.

Dean--or, rather, the thing inside of Dean--shakes his head. He grins. "S'not even any hot girls out. We should've come in swimsuit season."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind, the next time my brain splits open with one of these things," Sam snaps, almost automatically. If he didn't know better, he'd be completely fooled by the demon's performance.

Dean shrugs and spreads his hands. "I'm just saying. Coulda made it worth my while."

"Yeah, fuck you, too," Sam says, then shivers. "C'mon, let's go back to the car."

The green overlay of his dream makes sense now: it must have been there to distract him from the sudden darkness of Dean's eyes. Sam's subconscious is both thorough and a self-centered asshole.

His stomach is in knots, and he can't even begin to untangle the sensation, whether it's guilt or dread or sorrow or desire or some unholy combination of the above. The only solid, concrete thing he can focus on is the fact that, apparently, he's going to get the real Dean after all. More or less.


End file.
